Once Upon A dream
by BlueVase
Summary: A fic in which Patrick explains a young Angela how he and Shelagh met. Since it is almost a fairy tale in and of itself, Patrick takes some liberties, borrowing from Disney's Sleeping Beauty. TW: none, I think.


**purple-roses-words-and-love (who I also have to thank for betaing, as usual) and I got talking about the possibility of Shelagh and Patrick seeing the Disney film** _ **Sleeping Beauty,**_ **and if they would connect to the characters. This led to some speculation about a Turnadette retelling of this story, and if they would perhaps use this for Angela. Behold: a fic in which Patrick explains a young Angela how he and Shelagh met, in a way that speaks to her most: through a fairy tale.**

 **(I'm not the first one to do this. mylittleyellowbird also did it and did it first, only she actually made an original fairy tale. It was very sweet. Go and read it here.)**

"Daddy, how did you and mummy meet?" Angela asked Patrick as she gave him back her empty glass of milk, wiping away her white moustache with the back of her hand.

"We were colleagues, dear. I was the doctor, and she was a nurse," he said, placing the glass on the nightstand.

"Yes, but how exactly did you meet?" Angela insisted.

Patrick carded a hand through his hair, sighed, and furrowed his brow in concentration as he thought of the best possible way to tell his daughter how he and Shelagh had come to know each other, and how they'd fallen in love. He wished she was here; she would surely know how to navigate this minefield without having her feet blown off. She was visiting at Nonnatus with Teddy, though, so he was on his own.

"I hate leaving Angela like this," she'd said, adjusting Teddy's hat. Sister Monica Joan had knitted it for him. It was slightly wonky, like everything she made. Shelagh used to joke that only the love she'd knitted into it kept the thing from unravelling. "What if she starts to feel poorly again, and asks for me?"

Angela had been battling a cold these past few days, and though she was already doing better, she was still floppy with tiredness and as pale as winter snow.

"We'll be fine, Shelagh. I'm a doctor, remember?"

"Of course I remember, dearest," she'd said, stroking his cheek.

He took her hand and cradled it over the space where his heart beat for her and their children. "You've been cooped up here ever since Teddy was born because of the abominable weather. I think you deserve to go out and have tea with Sister Julienne."

Shelagh had frowned, the skin between her eyebrows folding till two little worry lines appeared. "But what if she starts to cry? What if the fever returns, and…?"

Patrick had brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, first the back, then the silvery scar on her palm, like he had done years ago, when he had had no right to even think about touching her, let alone actually pressing her lips to her wounded hand, but had done so anyway, overcome with passion and longing. "Angela and I get along splendidly together. And you'll be back before we know it," he said, voice low as the memory of her turning away played in front of his mind's eye. He pushed it away. It was easy; she had never refuted him since.

"You are right. I'm turning into an old worry-wart," Shelagh had said, kissing his cheek.

"My worry-wart, though," he had said, capturing her lips for a proper kiss before holding the door open so she could navigate the pram outside.

She'd been gone an hour now. He had woken Angela a little over half an hour ago so she could drink something. His little girl had been groggy with sleep, and listless. She'd crawled onto his lap and hugged him, limp and surprisingly heavy. He'd cupped the back of her head, stroking her scalp with his fingertips as he rocked her. He'd picked her up after a while and taken her into the kitchen. He had balanced her on his hip as he let her choose what she wanted for lunch. He'd declined her request of pink wafers, and had made her some toast with jam instead. She had hummed a strain of song that was familiar to him as she ate. It was whilst she drunk her milk that he had realised she was humming the melody of _Once Upon A Dream._ She'd seen _Sleeping Beauty_ a few weeks ago, and had been taken completely with the three little fairies, the forest animals, and the princess in her dress that could change colours.

"Daddy?" Angela asked, picking up Cuthbert the Second and rubbing her cheek against the soft fabric. She wasn't so deathly pale anymore, he noted.

"Yes," Patrick said, sitting down next to her on the sofa. "Sorry, dear. I was away with the fairies there for a moment." In truth he wasn't sure how to best broach the tale of his and Shelagh's rather unusual courtship.

Angela huddled against him, one hand wound in Cuthbert's ears. "Do you know a lot of fairies?"

"Not particularly, no, but…" An idea came to him, then. He smiled goofily, slinging his arm around his daughter and drawing her close. "You know all about fairy tales, don't you, Angel girl?"

"Yes," she said, eyes huge and glittering. "Is your story like that?"

"It is a bit like a fairy tale, yes! Like _Sleeping Beauty,_ in fact." He felt like a genius as he stroked her hair, noting that she was feeling cool, no longer burning up, like she had a few days ago. "You see, your mother and I met…"

"You have to start with 'once upon a time', daddy," she interrupted, burying her nose in Cuthbert's fraying fur.

"Ah, yes, how stupid of me!" he said, slapping his forehead.

Angela smiled, huddling even closer.

"Alright, here we go, Angel girl! Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived in a castle with other princesses and a queen. The princesses and queen all called each other 'sister', and wore the same blue dresses to show that they were family."

"Like Sister Julienne? She wears blue."

"Yes, exactly like Sister Julienne, dear. Well, these women all lived together in an old castle that stood in the middle of a forest. It was a really big forest, full of poplars. Those are really big trees, Angel girl, trees that grow to be incredibly tall. In almost every tree there lived a family, and the queen and the princesses worked very hard to make sure that all families were happy. There was a prince, too."

"That's you, right, daddy?"

"Yes, darling. This prince didn't have a sword or a shield, but a bag and a syringe. Oh, and he had a little boy, too. You see, the prince had been married to one of the women who lived in the poplars."

"Was she a princess, too?"

"No. The princesses in the castle were not allowed to marry."

"Not even princes?" Angela asked, blue eyes huge.

"Not even princes, no. So, this prince had married a woman from the forest, and they were very happy for a little while, but then she died," Patrick continued, feeling the familiar pang of sadness that accompanied every mention of Marianne. The hurt had been acute and sharp at first, but had faded with time. Now, he could speak of her with a smile framing his mouth, even though the fondness with which he thought of her always mingled with his grief, too.

"How did she die?" Angela asked, knuckles white as she fingered Cuthbert's ear. Shelagh had already sown it on once, but Patrick feared that the poor rabbit would require more surgery in the foreseeable future.

"Do you know what 'maleficent' means?"

"That was the name of the fairy in _Sleeping Beauty._ "

"Yes, but it is a word as well. It means doing something harmful, something bad. In the forest around the castle were a lot of maleficent creatures, preying on the poor families who made their homes in the poplars. One of them hurt the prince's wife, and though he, the princesses, and the queen tried very hard, they couldn't save her, and she died.

"The prince was very sad when she passed away, and his little boy was, too. The prince continued to fight for the poplar people though, but his heart had been hit by a spell. It hadn't turned to stone, because a heart of a stone doesn't feel anything, but it had become unable to feel joy, though, and as the prince fought the maleficent creatures with all the bravery he could muster, all he could feel was grief, and sadness. His heart had turned to ice." Those had been the darkest days of his life. The hurt had been overwhelming, and left him numb to everything.

"But the little boy? Didn't he make him happy?" Angela asked, voice small.

"Well, the spell did allow him to feel love for his little boy, of course."

"Isn't that being happy?"

Patrick sighed and rubbed his eyes. This was more difficult than he had originally anticipated. He took Angela's little hand in his, toying with her small fingers, stroking her chubby palm with his index finger. "Most of the time, feeling love is a happy thing, but not always, Angel girl." He hoped she would never come to experience that. He pushed the scenarios that would mean she did out of his head by kissing her hand.

She giggled, rubbing it along his cheek. "You feel all rough, daddy."

"That's because I should have shaved, darling. Now, do you want to hear how the fairy tale continues?"

She nodded.

Patrick tucked her back under his arm, inhaled deeply, and went one. "One day, one of the princesses helped the prince to save one of the poplar people. They had done it before, but this time it was special. The princess had seen that the prince was grieving, and had tried to help him in her own little way, by asking him how he was, and by helping his little boy.

"After they had saved the woman, the princess stayed to talk to him.

"He listened to her, and it was only when she went away that he realised she had spun her own little spell. It had touched his heart, and slowly thawed it." He remembered the way the smoke fell apart around her face, like a hazy halo, blurring the sharp contours of her wimple. She had spoken softly, in that lilting manner of hers that was now so familiar to him. When she had taken a drag from his cigarette, he was acutely reminded of how his mouth had been on the filter only seconds before, and how she now probably tasted him on her tongue. The thought had been strangely erotic. He had wondered if she had liked the taste of him.

"The prince wanted to be with the princess forever, wanted her to come and live in his tree and be his wife, but she was a princess, and she wasn't supposed to marry.

"The princess was very confused by all of this. You see, she had only meant to help, hadn't even realised she had cast a spell on the prince. But you know something? The prince had put a spell on her too, without him knowing it. Her heart, which she had tried to lock away in a box so that no one could take it, had felt his touch, and it wanted to be held again. She wanted to give her heart to the prince, but that would mean she would have to leave her sisters, and she didn't want that, either." He hadn't only touched her heart, but her hand, too. He had wished to touch a lot more than that, but as she had stepped away from him, he had realised how he had acted on his deepest, most secret fantasies, and had ignored everything else. It had been one of the most desperate things he had ever done, and one of the most egotistical ones.

"So what did they do? The prince and the princess, I mean. What did they do so they could marry?" Angela whispered, chewing her lip.

"Well, here it gets a bit sad, darling girl. Remember the maleficent creatures that had taken the prince's wife away?"

She nodded, furrowing her brow in anger.

"One of the creatures found the princess as she was helping the tree people, and it hurt her. The princess didn't know it, but she was sick, and got a little bit more ill every day. When she found out, the queen, the other princesses, and the prince had to send her to a kingdom far far away, so she could heal."

"Why didn't they do that with the wife of the prince?" Angela asked.

"You clever girl!" Patrick grinned, pressing a kiss to Angela's head.

She pushed his face away. "You tickle."

"I do. But as to your question: not every spell the maleficent creatures put on people could be taken away, and the prince's wife was enchanted by such an evil spell, by such a powerful curse, that no one could help her."

Cancer.

The word still put a shiver of fear and hurt through him, making his heart throb.

And though tuberculosis caused the same reaction, he knew that they could cure that now. Science was progressing so incredibly fast… He prayed that his children would not feel his desperation and terror at these words. One day, they would be diseases of the past.

"Daddy?"

He snapped out of his reverie and rubbed his eyes. "Uhm… as for the princess: it wasn't too late for her. She went to live in another castle, where three good fairies made her better."

"Like in the film! What were the fairies called?"

"Streptomycin, para-aminosalicylic acid and isoniazid," Patrick said.

Angela raised her eyebrows. "You're making that up. Those aren't real names."

"No, Angel girl, those are anti…" He cleared his throat. "The names of the fairies don't really matter for the story. Anyway, the princess was very far away, trying to get the curse undone, and the prince and his little boy missed her terribly. The prince's heart was thawing, but it was still so very icy that he feared it would crack if the princess didn't come back, or perhaps freeze again, this time completely, and then he would never be able to feel happy again.

"To make sure she wouldn't forget him and that she knew he loved her terribly, with all of his heart, icy or not, he wrote her long letters.

"But she didn't reply, and he grew ever more afraid for her, and his heart became a little colder every day."

"That is because she was asleep, daddy. She was enchanted to fall asleep by the evil fairy," Angela decided.

"Right you are, Angel girl. That was probably it," he said, kissing the crown of her head. Come to think of it: TB did make the sufferer very listless, and the Triple Treatment was effective, but hard on the body. Shelagh had probably slept a great deal in the sanatorium.

"Did the prince then fight a dragon?" Angela asked.

Patrick rubbed the nape of his neck. "Not exactly, no. The three fairies defeated the curse, you see, and the princess could come home again. She called out to the prince and his little boy to let them know she was coming back."

"But they couldn't marry."

"Not if the princess were to remain a princess, no, but she had decided that maybe she'd rather be the prince's wife and the little boy's mother than a princess."

"That is daft. She had pretty blue dresses," Angela murmured.

"She could have pretty blue dresses if she was a wife instead of a princess, too, Angel girl."

"Oh."

"Yes. So, the princess called out, and the prince heard her, and left the forest together with his boy to escort her on the way home.

"It was a good thing they did, because the princess got lost. There was a thick fog that had come rolling in, and it hid everything.

'How are we ever going to find her?' the prince exclaimed, feeling his icy heart beat very fast in his chest.

"But his little boy was cleverer than the prince, and he kept his eyes and ears and heart open, as they searched.

"They found her, and she wasn't wearing a blue dress anymore, but normal clothes, and the prince knew then that she had made her decision. Though she loved her sisters very much, she loved the prince and his boy even more.

"The prince draped his cloak around her and held her close. The spell that she had cast chipped away the last of the ice that had frosted over his heart, and for the first time in a long time, he felt happiness again."

"And they lived happily ever after?" Angela murmured, eyelids drooping like flowers without water.

"They lived happily ever after," Patrick agreed. He took his little girl in his arms and carried her to bed.

"And is that how you and mummy met?" she whispered, voice breathy with sleep.

"Something like that, yes," he answered, but she was fast asleep.


End file.
